


Dangerous

by CuppyCake5



Category: The Take (TV)
Genre: Dominance, F/M, Rough Sex, Roughness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-11
Updated: 2013-04-11
Packaged: 2017-12-08 04:28:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/757051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CuppyCake5/pseuds/CuppyCake5
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a filled prompt that plays more on dominance and roughness than I'm used to putting into my writing. But it's not overtly dominant or rough. But I'm trying to work my way up to that.</p><p>This is similar to my Warrior and Lawless fics, the reader is the main the role.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dangerous

Freddie was dangerous. You’d heard it before and you were willing to bet you’d hear it again. But you didn't care. It was a man few and far between willing to give what it was you wanted, willing to get as rough as you liked. But he was. And you weren't willing to give that up simply because a few people thought he might be a bit dangerous. Or deranged. You’d heard that one too. It mattered what Freddie did for you, not what other people warned you about.

You knew that whatever it was between the two of you, you wouldn't be able to turn around and leave. You knew that from the very first time he fucked you.

You came home to an empty house. Or so you thought. How he got in you didn't know. You didn't exactly care though, because there he was in all his aspiring thug glory. Hair a touch too oily, gold chain, rings, earring, cigarette dangling loosely from his fingers. It was almost cliche. He made it work though with his menacing body & temperament. 

That he didn’t care what happened to anybody, even himself, was an alluring freedom that added to the intense feeling that him being there could lead to anything.

Freddie didn’t say anything in those moments when you simply looked at each other, didn't even offer an explanation. He just slowly raised the cigarette to his mouth, lazily took a drag, and blew it out of those sinfully full lips. To be fair, you didn't ask for an explanation either. But that was more out your own stubbornness. Like hell you’d be the first to talk. You went about your business, walking by him to the kitchen.

He seemed to sense your challenge, his eyes following your every move. You ignored the fact you heard him get up, the chair squeaking when it found relief in the lack of weight. And you ignored it when you felt him approaching you. Nothing about any it should have seemed out of the ordinary. Yet, it did. There was a thickness in the air. Something that made it tangible.

Before you knew it, he had a hand wrapped around your arm and pushing you hard against the wall. It was all you could to turn head quickly enough so that your cheek was pressed to it instead of your face.

You felt his hands, one tangled in your hair, tugging it to reveal your neck for his lips and teeth to latch onto, while the other roughly grabbed your thigh, spreading your legs. His fingers were hard on your skin and in the moment you had known the next day there’d be bruises that would be the size of fingertips. Sure enough, you’d been right. Until the day they faded, you pushed on them hard, remembering.

You remembered how he grabbed you. How he’d hiked your skirt, yanked your panties down. The press of his cool belt buckle against your back had made you shiver, something that had made him cackle as he scraped his teeth down your neck. Before you knew it, his belt was missing. And wouldn't it be just like Freddie to be naked under those slacks of his.

Every time he slammed into you, it caused a gasp to rise from your lips, made him pull your hair harder. This was it. He was claiming you. You were his. God, how you’d wanted him. Wanted like this. Wanted him in any way. “Harder”, you moaned lowly in his ear. The grin your demand caused told you harder was exactly what you’d get. You’d be lucky if you could walk tomorrow.

Yanking you away from the wall, he shoved you over the counter none too lightly. One hand was kept on your shoulder, pressing down hard to make sure you didn’t try to right yourself. The other was on your hip, keeping you still while his hips snapped hard and fast into you.

You knew he was finished when his body stretch out on yours and his hips were following a jerky rhythm that couldn't be matched. He made you bear his weight while his hit breath wafted across the back of your neck and down your cheek. You tried elbowing him once, but he grabbed your arm and pinned it to the counter, biting fiercely onto your shoulder before pulling his body away. He redressed himself, leaving you bent over and exposed on the counter, unfinished.


End file.
